a friend and i worry that this might be it, or worse, more of the same to come

then three and four together, bigger, moving

like listening to an old smoker hacking you clear you own throat involuntarily while you clear their nose and mouth of birth mucus

then five

then six a minute later

‘five’ has stopped moving, i hold it upside down, perhaps id been to quick to return it to the mother, some mucus still obstructing…slowly breathing, the friend is equally worried, its not just me and memories of lamb death …fifteen minutes of clearing, washing and cajolling ends in sluggish movement, but its alive

a few drops from a syringe of powdered milk to try and start up the suckling reflex

thirty minutes later and its nibbling at a teat

its hard not to speak in cliches while it happens, never mind avoid writing in them, but its IS somehow miraculous and timeless, and marvellous in the way that accompanies only things in which we are irrelevant

and now its all over i want it to happen over again, for the strangely addictive miracle to keep coming, for more to emerge

todayall my ideas feel dimi dont want to plan and i dont want to doall the ideas for writing seem lazy and turgidim not interesteditd be nice to stop it all and spend my time and money on something else